


Agents of Change: Reformation

by Eisen



Series: Agents of Change [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Additional Character Tags to be Added, Character Death, Demons, Gen, Gore, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, Mages don't like Robes, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Potential feels trains, Slow To Update, Violence, Warning: The Seeker can Punch, longfic, part of a longer series, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-03-25 16:11:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3816694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisen/pseuds/Eisen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eila Lavellan travels to the Divine’s conclave as a spy at the behest of the Keeper, eventually landing in the difficult position of being the only survivor, amnesic witness and suspect to a catastrophic event.</p><p>She is expecting the hangman's noose - as an <i>elf</i> and a <i>mage</i>, prejudices are stacked strongly against her, but Fate has other plans.</p><p> </p><p>  <img/></p><p>Art by: <a href="http://therexandxbackxagain.deviantart.com">grimmcake</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marked and Accused

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Of Fear and Lyrium](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3196010) by [MaryDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryDragon/pseuds/MaryDragon). 
  * Inspired by [Tearing Down the Heavens](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3456728) by [zombolouge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombolouge/pseuds/zombolouge). 
  * Inspired by [Where Legend Remains](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3774367) by [coffeeguru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeguru/pseuds/coffeeguru). 
  * Inspired by [And If I Fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3391427) by [whenwewereoceans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenwewereoceans/pseuds/whenwewereoceans). 
  * Inspired by [Enduring Knight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3251945) by [KuraNova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuraNova/pseuds/KuraNova). 
  * Inspired by [Past the Shades where Blind Men Grope](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3281783) by [Laysan_albatross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laysan_albatross/pseuds/Laysan_albatross). 
  * Inspired by [Nightmare Mode](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3710206) by [mmesnappysnips (evil_lyte)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_lyte/pseuds/mmesnappysnips). 



> Reformation is a Dragon Age Fanfiction by Eisen. Dragon Age belongs to Bioware.
> 
> I am forever indebted to [coffeeguru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeguru/pseuds/coffeeguru) for her willingness to edit my work.
> 
> Also, my thanks to:  
> [MaryDragon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryDragon), for constantly being _the_ best fic writer in existence.  
> [Caek](http://grimmcake.tumblr.com/), [Doodles](http://dissatisfied-doodles.tumblr.com/), [Alyx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therutherfordwife/pseuds/therutherfordwife), [Aelie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelie/pseuds/aelie) and [Chant](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chanterie) for being cool friends and everything that is good about a fandom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reworked and uploaded on 8/07/2016

Eerie green light flickered and flashed. She felt her face connect with the ground, large particles of dirt digging into her cheek. She strained her arms to try and lift herself, but strength deserted her and the blurry floor rose to meet her once more. She did not register the scuffle of boots over the gravel, closing about her prone form.

~<o>~

Eila Lavellan groaned as the waking world pulled at her consciousness once more. Her heartbeat pounded through her head, each knell wanting to burst through the bone of her skull. Through the pain she could feel an unyielding floor press against her knees and shins – any discomfort there gone, as her legs had gone to sleep long ago.

Among the myriad of aches across her body, an alien throb pounded, an off-sync beat to her own pulse in the palm of her left hand. If comparable to anything it would have been to the holding of another’s still beating heart.

She opened her eyes, the lids sticky and stubborn. Her first thought was that she had gone blind, but slowly the vision returned, albeit blurrily. A light swam into focus, then wavered and scattered. Eila frowned as it dawned upon her that she had been looking at a reflection in a frozen-over puddle.

The alien heartbeat in her hand stopped abruptly and she almost breathed a sigh of relief, but any celebration on her part was cut short as chartreuse fire spurted from the palm. The flames were accompanied by mind-numbing pain. Her vision blanked out again, as the pain cut off all other senses. A detached thought heard someone –  _ her?  _ – scream. But the torrent of sensory information from the glowing hand would not allow her to summon any wits to take in more of her surroundings.

The pain only lasted a moment, but seemed as though it had endured for a short eternity. Slowly her senses re-asserted themselves, just in time for her to pick up the distinct sound of sabatons. The distant corner of her consciousness that was still coherent recalled the sound of marching through the haze of pain. There was an image of a shem lord’s armoured soldiers passing through the village where she usually traded on her clan’s behalf.

The footfall of heavy boots accompanied by the clinking of metal buckles and plates drew nearer until it stopped short in front of her. Eila forced the protesting muscles in her neck to look up and her struggling eyes to focus on the person in looming above.

As soon as she was sure she had gotten Eila’s attention, the shem'len woman began pacing, forcing Eila to give up trying to follow her with her head and making sounds that seemed to be very accusatory. She finally wheeled around, fixing Eila with a glare as she marched up to her hunched form. The shem leaned down and grabbed the hand that burned, lifting it to Eila’s face as if the hand were accusing its owner as much as the woman holding onto it.

“Explain this!” she spat.

Eila flinched as spittle flew into her face, her mind finally winning in the struggle for coherence, but nothing offered itself as an answer to the glaring shem. Her mouth struggled silently as it tried to form words in answer, a bitter taste coating her tongue.

The rough handling of her hand also impressed upon her that she was manacled. The heavy wooden beam connecting her wrists pulled the hand back to the floor as soon as the shem woman let go. A cursory glance told Eila that there were others in the room besides the angry woman. Several shems that looked to be soldiers stood around, bared swords pointed at her, their faces betraying fear. In the shadows an ominous hooded figure watched the proceedings.

A gauntleted hand connected with Eila’s face and sent her thoughts reeling once more. The force of the blow lifted her from her knees and sent her crashing onto her side. She saw stars.

“Enough, Cassandra! We may yet need her,” a refined voice with an Orlesian lilt called from the shadows where the hooded figure had been standing.

Eila managed to turn her head just enough to see them reveal themselves. A woman wearing a sleek mail hauberk stepped into the chamber’s dim lighting. Her – what would probably be considered beautiful - features, by human standards, were marred by a strained look, ashen smudges and dark rings under her eyes. What coppery red hair was visible clung together from sweat.

The woman that had hit Eila stalked towards the other and they started a heated - yet hushed - argument. That was when she felt something running down her cheek and along her jawline. The blow to her face must have split skin.

Even in her dazed state she could pick up some of the words in the debate taking place before her:  _ Divine, Conclave, survivors _ . Memory rushed back to fill the void in Eila’s mind.

~<o>~

“Da’len, I want for you to go to the shem'len holy woman’s Conclave. I believe it shall be a pivotal event in determining the days to come. While we may not yet be a part of the mage-templar conflict, I fear that the consequences of this foolish war will have repercussions that may even reach the most far-flung of the People.”

“As you wish, Keeper.”

~<o>~

Eila watched from the shadows of one of the many ornately carved pillars that adorned the entrance of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Shems passed by her hiding spot, completely unaware that they were being observed by what would in their eyes no doubt be a heretic, deserving of death for treading foot in a place so sacred to them.

Groups of both mages and templars were scattered through the hall, carefully avoiding one another and shooting the occasional venom-filled suspicious looks towards the other group. Important figures of the Chantry flitted between them, trying to soothe and resolve as much tension as possible to mitigate any potential disruptions to the peace talks before they even began.

The diversity of representatives present had surprised the Dalish Elf. She had expected to be as bored by her assignment as she had been whenever she stole into the Chantries of whatever village they were nearest to in their travels. The journey itself had already been an adventure in its own right, with the port cities of the Waking Sea, the spray of the ocean breeze as a ship cut through its waters and the rugged landscape of Ferelden – so different from the wilderness in the Free Marches where she had grown up. What could the Conclave possibly have offered to keep her interested?

She had not expected the crowds swarming to Haven, the myriad of representatives and pilgrims from all walks of life. She had not expected the grandeur of the temple itself.

The architecture of the place that had once housed the remains of Andraste herself was truly breath-taking. Heralding back to an era in which the world’s fate was decided. An era in which Elves had been free, with their own land, their own home.

Then not ten years ago the world’s fate was decided once more, once more featuring this structure; the Hero of Ferelden rediscovering the ancient walls and the treasure hidden within. Even her own tribe’s storyteller recounted how the Warden had delved into the most dangerous shadows of the Bracillian forest to save another clan of the People from the clutches of a wicked curse.

There were others who had come to attend the peace talks, beyond the Chantry, Templars and Mages. No doubt many saw what the Keeper had seen, knowing that what was decided at the Conclave would shape all of southern Thedas’ future.

A great deal of Orlesian, Ferelden, Nevarran, Free Marcher and even some Antivan nobility were in attendance, no doubt all desiring to have a hand in determining how the deliberations worked out, or at least present when the decisions were made. Then there were the soldiers; bereft of their former reliance on the templars, the Chantry had hired a company of qunari sellswords to maintain the peace between attending rivalling factions. Eila had seen the company’s leader earlier that day, a giant of a woman, whose horns curved back over her head in an almost graceful sweep.

Eila had seen her and and a number of her men chasing something through the crowds. Only when the elf clambered up a pillar to remain out of trouble did she spot the diminutive hooded form of what had to have been a durgen’len, a dwarf, flitting through the crowds. She had breathed out a sigh of relief upon realising that the chase already had intended prey and that she need not concern herself over it.   
  
Then there were also the Commander and his troops. She was unsure how they fit into the picture, but the giant blonde human with his bear hide cape led a notably growing force established on the outskirts of the village of Haven. They bore no standards and the natural colours that made up their uniform matched no noble houses Eila had ever heard of - in her experience the more garish a noble could be, the better.

Her paranoia kept her up among the rafters a good several hours longer than had probably been necessary, but it did allow her to catch snippets of conversation drifting up to her from the groups below - none of them expecting an eavesdropper to be spying from above. Eventually a set of bells had tolled from somewhere within the labyrinthine halls and groups started to disperse and move towards a central doorway. Eila decided that would be the best opportunity to return to the ground floor and blend in with the crowds to try and get a good view of the proceedings, grateful also, that the opportunity would allow her to stretch her stiff limbs.

She swung between the beams as though they were branches in the forests of her childhood, eventually clambering down a pillar on the far side of the room, while hoping not to draw any attention to herself. She spotted a corridor leading off from the main chamber and melted from shadow to shadow until she reached the doorway, quickly slipping in, to remain out of sight. Her trip was cut to an abrupt halt as she collided with someone in the darkened doorway.

“Oof!”

The offending party was a shem'len girl with wine red hair, dressed in spartan leathers more akin to armour than anything else and a form-fitting coat. The two women bounced off one another, landing hard on the stone tiles. Eila recovered in a flash, drawing a dagger and crouching before the mage, poised to strike.

The other girl looked up, disorientated, but on her feet just as quickly, the hair of her fringe knocked to the side to reveal a sunburst brand marking her forehead – the mark of the Chantry – the mark of a dream-dead,  _ Tranquil _ . But her eyes were anything but dead.

“Wha-“

“Hold your tongue shem, before I relieve you of it!” Eila cut off the woman’s query sharply, her gut sinking at the thought of failing in her assigned task due to a mistake as foolish as not watching where she’d been going.

The red-head’s mouth snapped shut, a look of confused suspicion stealing across her face before being replaced by one of determination.

“I’ll do nothing of the sort! Nobody is to to disrupt the talks, and any threats to the Divine are to be eliminated.” Her accent hinted at a Marcher heritage.

“Pff, as if I care that much for shem'len affairs,” Eila balked. “I am merely here as a listener at my Keeper’s behest.”

“Right, as if a Dalish mage would be here for so trivial a thing.”

“How did you….”

Both women looked sharply down the dark passageway behind them when Eila was interrupted by a crash of breaking furniture and a shout that had the human pale several shades more than Eila had thought possible with her sun-marked porcelain complexion.

~<o>~

Eila let out a small sound, breathing in sharply as she recalled what had happened. The two shem'len women turned towards her as one, cutting off whatever discussion it was they were having.

“I…I remember…” Eila managed from her awkward position on the floor.

The first woman stepped towards her, causing Eila to flinch, expecting another blow. “What do you mean you remember, elf?” Her manner was as brusque as before, oddly harmonizing with her appearance. She wore her hair cropped short, with a thin braid running around her crown. Her plate armour was covered by a tabard heralding a great white eye on black. A long scar accented her jawline and slightly broke up the angled planes of her face.

“I remember arriving at the Conclave,” Eila began. “Our clan’s Keeper sent me to find out what would happen among the shem – humans, and I ended up hiding in the temple when the guards started a search for a durgen’len. Which was when I ran into a false dream-dead…hggnnnn-”

Both of the human women cried out, rushing forward, the soldiers surrounding Eila stepping back in surprise as the elf’s eyes rolled back and a seizure gripped her.

“One of you! Find me something to use as a bit!” the hooded one ordered as she rushed to the convulsing elf’s side. The armoured one forcefully held down Eila’s thrashing limbs, as the mark on the her hand bathed the dank room with brilliant light, energy spurting from it and painting the walls with stark shadows.

~<o>~

She was standing on ground that looked as if it had once been flowing lava; the swirls in the dark rock reminding her of the time her clan had passed by a volcano. The Keeper had told of how a mountain could spew fire like a dragon.

Thick fog swirled around her, and the air had a disconcerting lack of scent. Eila walked forward a few steps, trying to peer through the thick clouds dancing around her.  _ No scent, so not smoke. No moisture, so not fog. What is this? _

The mist cleared suddenly, as if a strong breeze had blown through, even though she had not felt anything. Standing in front of her, facing away was a blonde elf, dressed in the same servant’s clothes Eila herself had pilfered from some noble’s caravan before entering Haven. She had the odd feeling that the person in front of her was supposed to be  _ her. _ But clearly it couldn’t be - if that was  _ her _ , then who was  _ she _ ?

Green light flashed like lightning, illuminating the entire warped wasteland and blinding her for a moment. Once her vision cleared, the copy had turned around to face her. The entire front of her stolen garments were soaked in blood, her hands, arms and face also splattered and smeared with the red life-essence, one of the marks across her copy’s cheek looking suspiciously like a smeared handprint.

Despite its macabre appearance, the copy had an insane rictus of joy plastered onto its face, with teeth bared and the corners of its mouth pulled far too wide for what should have been possible for an elf. Its eyes were wide and blank, simple ivory orbs that lacked all signs of iris and pupil that had Eila wondering how the creature saw. She could feel the bile rising and had to fight the feeling back. She lost that struggle when the creature licked the blood from one of its slightly-too-long fingers.

She only had time to heave once before there was a sick sucking noise from the ground next to the copy, where the lava-like surface seemed to have lost its rigidity and  another corrupted copy had begun crawling its way out as if birthed by the very rock.

Eila stepped back, hesitant to turn her back on the  _ not-me _ . Yet every fibre in her body demanded that she do so. The first copy took a staggering step towards her, then another, its movement awkward, as if unsure as what to do with its limbs. The creature emitted a strange sound that would have raised the hair on Eila’s back, had she been human.

The creature was  _ laughing _ . It was a low almost-giggling sound that made Eia want to claw out of her own skin at its simultaneously familiar, yet alien nature.

She could not bring herself to move, with her legs frozen in horrified fascination as the not-me drew ever nearer. It was about to reach out and touch her with one of its bloody hands when her body finally reacted to the panicked instructions of her mind. Eila’s arm swung around faster than she had ever moved, fist bathed in cyan fire. The blow connected with the not-her and exploded, the force of the spell tearing the creature that  _ couldn’t, wouldn’t possibly _ be her.

At the demise of its fellow, the other copy shrieked. The sound pierced the air unlike any a person could have made. The ground began to churn all around much like when the second copy had appeared.

The second copy took a step towards her, then shuddered to a halt, writhing as something moved beneath their skin.

Fear gathered in Eila’s chest, coiling around her heart and lungs, but then everything flashed green again as a tremor shook the ground. Several of the newly-birthed copies shrieked, but the sound was cut short as they turned into a pearly smoke that was sucked away to somewhere above and behind her in a streak of green energy

The shaking knocked her to the ground, but quickly staggered back up, shocked into action as all the building adrenalin finally found an outlet. Turning she started to run. Seeing only a steep mountain stairwell she struggled up the path in a vain hope to escape the creatures that she knew would attempt to twist her. Make her one of them. Make her,  _ not-her. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This upload is a nod to zombolouge for finally finishing their amazing story and kind words (and coffeeguru's as well), check them out ;)


	2. The Prisoner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest thanks to coffeeguru for taking up the role of my beta, it is greatly appreciated <3 (Or you would all have to suffer through terrible grammar and spelling mistakes!)
> 
> I strongly recommend everyone also have a look at their writing.

Leliana gasped when the elf’s recount was interrupted by a seizure. The spasms wracking the prisoner sent her slight form crashing back to the cold stone floor. The Left Hand of the Divine -  _ former _ Divine - bit off an expletive before it could pass her lips.  _ Maker, Oghren’s influence is still affecting me. _ Both she and Cassandra reacted at once, rushing towards the girl who had moments ago struggled with coherency, and was now thrashing on the floor.

The mark on the elf’s hand was spitting out green fire, much like its larger counterpart scarring the sky outside. The former bard pushed aside concerns of the scar also calling demons from the Fade and shook her head as if the physical action would throw the ideas from her mind. She had dealt with demons before, a whole Circle of them. The woman before them was the only thing that mattered, the only lead in discovering what had happened at the Conclave, only witness, only suspect. The elf _would_ _not die!_ Damnation, where had that bald apostate wandered off to?

“One of you, find me something to use as a bit!” She commanded the petrified guards.

Cassandra, true to her nature, had already taken action, using her own weight to hold down the prisoner’s legs and the leverage offered by the wooden stock holding the prisoner’s manacles to restrain the thrashing as best as possible.

“Well, do as she said!” the Nevarran barked. Her accented voice had the desired effect, starting one of the guards out of his reverie, who hastily saluted and sheathed his sword, scrambling from the room.

It startled Leliana to realise that the Seeker was having trouble holding down the elf. She moved to the bruised pale face, taking as much care as she could afford and gathered up the pale hair from the floor, kneeling down to trap the head. Maker-only knew what effect a concussion might have in addition to what could only be a tortured mind.

She suppressed a flinch as something appeared in her peripheral vision, but relaxed when she saw it was the soldier who had run off returning, holding what looked to be a carved wooden handle for something. Nodding her thanks she took the object, moving the prisoner’s head to where she could clench her knees around it to free her hands as she tried and force the clenched teeth open to place the bit.

It took several attempts before the object was in place, which made Leliana very grateful for the thickness of her leather gloves.

Her task accomplished, she looked to see how Cassandra was faring. The Seeker was still struggling, a bead of sweat running down the side of her face as evidence.

“I believe it is the Mark causing this. It’s not like any possession I’ve seen,” the Right Hand managed, sounding strained.

“One can never say, with magic. Perhaps a cleanse would alleviate it?” Leliana voiced.

Cassandra blinked, looking at the former bard. Despite working together for the past decade with the red-haired Orlesian she was still learning not to be surprised by what the other woman knew. She nodded; there was little else they could do in the situation that would not threaten the prisoner’s life more than it already was.

“All the templars we have are currently fighting the demons from the breach, but I will try something.”

The Nevarran closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, calming herself as much as the situation would allow. All sounds were slowly blocked out until she could only hear the intake of her own breath, the beat of her own heart and the frantic pulse of the woman beneath her. When she opened her eyes, her irises glowed a bright azure.

Leliana expected to feel the effect of what Cassandra did to wash over her, as she had whenever working with Templars using their abilities. Instead, she felt another presence, massive and ancient. Then it was gone, the sudden absence rippling outward and kicking up a thin cloud of dust.

The woman between the Hands of the former Divine stilled almost immediately, the only trace of her struggle evident in the sweat moistening her brow and the yet-to-normalise pulse. The fire emitted from the mark spluttered and died, leaving nothing more than a sulky glow in its place.

The Left Hand breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like the elf would make it. She detached herself from the woman and removed the now slightly worried carved handle, tossing it to Cassandra in a manner that seemed almost careless, considering what had just transpired.

“It would probably be best if I head to the front and see how the Commander and troops are holding up against the demons,” she explained as she started moving towards the chamber’s exit.

Cassandra nodded, as she also freed herself from her position. “That would be wise. I will remain here until she regains consciousness and will then follow after, whether she proves to be amenable or not.”

Leliana disappeared through the doorway, the shadows of the dungeon swallowing her up to leave only Cassandra and the nervous guards standing over the now-still body.

~<o>~

The stairs just would not end, climbing into the broiling sky for all eternity and with every step she managed, the creatures…the  _ not-me _ were closing in, clambering up on all fours as if there were spiders behind the façade of horror-coated elf.

Eila risked another glance downwards, only to see that they were barely fifteen steps behind her. She returned to her upward struggle with renewed vigour, ignoring how the rough obsidian bit into her hands as she assisted her ascent, and cursing the angle at which she had to climb. Who in their right mind would construct such a thing? Yet in the recesses of her mind she knew the question was a futile one. Wherever she was, whatever had placed, built, or carved these stairs, sanity was the last thing it would adhere to.

A whisper of an unscratchable itch, a sixth sense that caused the hair at the nape of her neck to rise let her know that the creatures were drawing closer. She looked up from where she’d been struggling up the uneven flight, to see how much further it would be to the top as she forced herself not to think about what she would do once there and no solution presented itself. There had to be salvation, she could not die like this. Creators, she refused to.

As if in answer to her internal drive the stairs ended just a short distance further and standing there was a golden silhouette, the glowing shape of a woman leaning down as if to offer a hand of assistance.

Kicking off from where she’d been trying to find purchase, Eila urged herself forward. Her legs and arms screamed in protest after an already trying ordeal, but desperation pushed her on. Her outstretched hand was about to grasp the woman’s when the air around her exploded. Through the ringing of her ears the elf could just make out a terrifying roar.

The world slowed down around her. A great force was pushing against her, washing around her much like a strong current would. She was expecting to fall to her doom, or end up struggling against the lustful claws of the not-me. Instead, she felt the warm, reassuring pressure of a hand clasping her own. All before her was too bright, too light, for her to distinguish anything. Then reality dimmed, time resumed and everything resolved itself into distinguishable shapes.

The golden silhouette was holding tightly onto her hand, with a surprisingly gentle grip considering how much weight it was managing to hold up. Oddly enough she did not even feel her own weight pulling on her arm. Behind the silhouette was a massive rent in reality, a giant green portal coalescing and twisting around itself as it tried to occupy three dimensions with a two-dimensional object.

But that was not what grabbed Eila’s attention. Emerging from the rent was an enormous dragon of blue fire, the source of the blinding light as only the far edges of its existence were bereft of pure brilliance.

The dragon roared, the sound coming from a thousand throats of flame, but one creature. It coiled up within the span of a breath, and launched itself forward, rushing ahead with fiery wings thundering like the flames of a burning forest. She gasped as it hit her, but the flames simply passed around her, following the current. She felt a presence within them, as they licked at her. It was old, too old, old beyond memory, and sad beyond reason. She could feel the dragon’s essence within her very blood, like a song of perpetual sorrow. Then the it was gone; the last of it passing through her, as the remnants of its tail curled about her almost lovingly before fading away.

The abrupt end to the flood of sensations had Eila staring blankly, eyes unseeing as her mind tried to process what it had just experienced and could not offer attention to menial details such as sight. Finally, parts of her her gathered together, finding each other in the core of her soul. She was Eila, not some forgotten, ancient entity. Some part of her begged to go after the shining being, to soothe its lonely lament. But as soon as she blinked, darkness swallowed her, a warm embrace as she fell off the stairs. Her dazed consciousness was confused as the world inverted before her eyes and she fell into the sky.

~<o>~

Eila opened her eyes. She remembered the pain, it was a different pain. She had been recounting what she could recall of the Conclave to two women when… _ she is looking at them. They look back. They are her. Her, but covered in blood. Life essence dripping from their - her - hands and staining the stolen tunic. She knows whose blood it is. She has always known. She has managed to stop it until now, but how much longer before she fails? Before she is guilty? She knows that in a sense, she is already guilty, but she will not admit it yet, not today. She turns and runs, fleeing inevitability. _

Eila jerked upright as the vision released its hold. _No, never. Their blood won’t ever find its way onto my hands._ _It’s all a lie and will never come to pass._

She still checked her manacled hands for blood. Her tunic for stains.

There was a derisive snort from somewhere to her left, “If you’re quite done, there are men and women dying while you lie here...” the voice seemed to struggle for a word, “napping!” It was the woman from earlier, the one in the armour, the one who had hit her.

Before the Eila could turn to look at her captor, the woman moved from where she had been leaning against a pillar, walked up to Eila, and ignoring her flinch at the expectation of another blow, roughly lifted to her feet. Then she was unlocked. The rope was only slightly less abrasive than the metal had been, but Eila was still grateful that it was not tied so tightly as to cut off circulation to her hands.

The woman then took the lead and before continuing to the door turned to address her, “Come, no doubt you wish to see the results of your actions at the Conclave.”

Eila barely had time to start moving her aching legs before the armoured shem’len marched off, pulling her after so much like a dog. Confused and more than a little frightened, she simply did her best to follow after the woman. She had no desire to open a dialogue with someone who, it seemed, would punch her as soon as answer her.

Any further thoughts of conversation fled Eila’s mind as soon as they walked through the doors of whatever building she’d been held in. After the brief moment it took her eyes to adjust to the brightness of the morning sun she almost collapsed in shock at what she beheld. Surely, the end of the world had come.


	3. Innocence and Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should go without saying, but I'll say it anyway: thanks to coffeeguru for being an awesome beta! Go read their work at http://archiveofourown.org/works/3774367 - the latest chapter floored me!

She thought it was the morning sun - if ever the sun over Thedas rose looking like that though, the world would be doomed. It was a wound in the very fabric of existence, with streams of energy pouring out as much as it seemed to suck the sky. Chartreuse lightning flickered from the tumultuous hurricane of energy, drawing out its blue-white counterpart in a thundering duel across the heavens.

Eila stopped dead as she realised that what she was looking at was not some hallucination conjured up by her pain-wracked body and strained mind. The shem’len woman holding her lead did not yank at the rope to get the her moving again, but instead wore an expression of understanding.

When Eila looked back at her captor the woman glanced up at the hole in the sky, then looked back to the elf. “We call it the Breach, it is a hole that pierces through the Veil into the Fade itself. Every second it grows and spews out demons into this world.”

“How?” The word fell from her lips before she could stop herself, and here she had thought herself too frightened of the shem’len to even consider speech.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes, the Conclave, they are gone...the explosion that created  _ that _ , destroyed them, killing....” there was the barest hint of the woman’s throat constricting around the words - the only sign of emotion  that she had revealed since dragging Eila out of the darkened chamber.

“How many?” this question was quiet, barely a whisper that escaped the elf.

The shem’len woman gave a humourless snort. “As far as we know, there was only one survivor, one that should not have been there to begin with,” she said, looking at Eila pointedly.

Even through the haze of pain and shock the elf picked up on the other woman’s meaning, her eyes growing wide at the implications as her current circumstances suddenly made a whole lot more sense.  _ No…. _

~<o>~

Cassandra watched as realisation dawned on the elf, green-gold eyes growing wide. It looked as if the horror in the expression was genuine; it was too early to reach a verdict on the prisoner’s guilt, but if she was to blame at the very least it looked to have not been intentional – as little as that would matter to any but the woman herself.

The Right Hand gave the woman a moment to process, but tensed up, involuntarily reaching for her sword as the elf let out a short scream, clutching at her marked hand. Cassandra recognised the burning hiss that was so characteristic to the brand, knowing it was spurting out green light once more despite how the prisoner clutched the hand to her belly in an attempt to suppress what was no doubt a great deal of pain.

She almost managed to restrain the comforting hand she placed on the elf’s shoulder. Perhaps a compassionate face would assist in having the prisoner open up more about the events at the Conclave.  _ Hah, look at you Cassandra, are those your thoughts on a woman you have bound and dragging behind you? Compassion indeed. More like Hypocrisy. What scathing comment would Tethras have to that?  _ Damnation, they had been so close when the seizure had interrupted the recounting. But now was not the time to have concerns about that, first they needed to see if anything could be done about the hole in the sky, as intentional its creation may have been, or not.

“It grows in the sky as its mark on you grows on your skin. It  _ will _ kill you.” She was not sure why she said that, why she said it as she did. Was she trying to further motivate co-operation? No, she was not that subtle, Maker why had she not insisted Leliana do this…?

The prisoner gave a humourless laugh, halfway through which she seemed to choke at hearing the sound herself. After recovering with a tremble she scowled, “What am I to do? I may be a mage but that…I don’t think any power of this age could do  _ that _ .” She gestured at the Breach with her unmarked hand, the other still curled against her chest.

“Yet here you are, branded in a manner that clearly links you to the Breach and the only living thing to make it out of the Temple,” Cassandra retorted. Did this woman have no idea at the magnitude of the accusations leveled against her to speak as she did? “ _ I _ may not be able to force you to do much, let alone try to fix  _ this _ ,” she gestured at the sky,“ but I believe it is in your best interest to at least try  _ something _ .”

The elf looked at her, expression mostly unreadable with the set of her jaw that belying hidden pain. “Very well,” she stated after a while,“ I’ll do as you ask, shem’len. Pray to your Maker that this works.”

Cassandra nodded stiffly, it was not much, but it would have to do. She took up the lead again and headed towards the exit of Haven, the small village filled with panicked survivors and casualties. The Seeker watched the prisoner out of the corner of her eye, how the elf almost physically recoiled at the hate and accusation-filled looks levelled at her.

“They have already decided your guilt,” she explained, not turning to address the prisoner but making sure the rope was still fast in her hand. They moved past the tents where the Commander and his men had remained before the Breach opened and on towards a bridge with a set of guards on the other end. “It is the only thing they have, the hate - with the Conclave destroyed, the Divine murdered along with hundreds, if not thousands, of others.”

The only reaction her observation elicited from the elf was a head bowed even further. At least she too felt the loss of so many, even if they were not of the same race, the same creed. “There will be a trial, that is the best  I can promise.” The Seeker felt a pang of guilt at offering the empty consolation. The remaining powers-that-be would not hesitate to use this elf as a scapegoat for everything that had gone wrong,  with the mages and now with the Conclave, regardless of actual involvement. The fallout this could cause in the alienages would no doubt result in bloodbaths across all of southern Thedas. Maker, it felt like they were becoming a second Tevinter.

“What is the worst?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“And I would yours, if I knew it to be worth anything, but you said that was the best you could promise. What would be the worst?”

“A pitchfork wielding mob and a pyre.”

“Ah, an honour worthy of your Prophet.”

Cassandra shot the prisoner a disapproving look at this, but found she could not disagree. The elf remained silent after that, quietly following after the tall Seeker. When they finally reached the gate, Cassandra ordered the guards stationed there to open it, ignoring their questioning looks at her companion. They stepped out onto a deeply-rutted road, evidence of the countless wagons and pilgrims that had passed this way since the Hero of Ferelden discovered the secluded village and its treasure. Most of the tracks led north, out of the mountains, but they followed it to the west, towards where the Temple had once stood, towards the Breach.

They encountered several abandoned wagons and people fleeing away from the hole in the sky, most of whom were convinced that it was the end of the world. The pair of women passed by them silently, the elf shrinking against the Right Hand of the Divine whenever any other humans passed too closely by. They were almost halfway to the next landmark, a second bridge crossing over the frozen river when the mark on the prisoner’s hand flared again. The elf grunted, managing to swallow the scream that had threatened to escape as the pain lanced up her arm. This time Cassandra leaned over to help her back to her feet. “It’s happening frequently, we must make haste.”

The prisoner’s face was twisted into a grimace of pain as she nodded. When Cassandra had helped her to her feet she pulled out her dagger and cut through the rope binding the other woman’s hands together.

The elf looked at her, surprised, but then her gaze turned solemn. “From what you said earlier and this...” she lifted her now-free hands, “do you not believe me guilty?”

“I believe that the Maker has a plan and I do not presume to know it, other than that I cannot say.”

The prisoner continued looking at her for a short while, before finally nodding. The Seeker did not know why, but it felt like that they could now carry on. How was she allowing a prisoner dictate their course of action?

They were halfway across the bridge towards the next checkpoint set up by the soldiers that had hastily been gathered together from the Templars, the nobles, and the forces that the Divine had gathered and brought along, when a Fade-green meteor crashed into it. Cassandra found herself slipping on crumbling stonework as the bridge collapsed under its own weight, supports destroyed. Dust billowed into the air as ancient masonry was crushed. The Seeker struggled as the paving beneath her feet kept giving way; eventually she felt her gut take flight as she lost her balance, then felt her shoulder impact with the ground, jarring it.

A distinct prickling at the back of her psyche alerted her that a denizen of the Fade was near. She carefully lifted herself to her feet, slipping her sword from its sheath and pulling her shield from its sling as she glared at the dust and ice cloud the air around her, as if the hostile look would force the offending particles to part and let her see what this new threat was.

~<o>~

Eila coughed, trying to expel the dust she had inhaled. Whispers of rest, lethargy and complaints of everything being too much  _ effort _ drifted through her mind. The hair at the nape of her neck prickled, she knew these voices. They had whispered to her whenever the elders of the clan had given her a task, they had made promises whenever the Keeper was explaining a particularly lengthy and uninteresting topic. They were what she had always been warned against.  _ Demons. _

But the whispers were too strong, stronger than she had ever experienced before. She heard the distinct grinding of a sword being drawn. The shem’len woman; if she was also experiencing this feeling and arming herself she should prepare for the worst herself. Glancing around, her eyes travelled across a pile of wooden crates, some broken from their rough descent from the bridge or crushed by stones. Most of them seemed to contain food supplies and cloth but something glinted among the shattered remains of one.

Eila carefully made her way towards the broken container, throwing suspicious glances into the cloud surrounding her that had started to dissipate as a brisk mountain breeze picked up. The last remnants of the debris settled, allowing the elf to see the shem’len, who was standing frozen in a combat ready-stance, shield raised and sword readied. But she was not facing her, instead she seemed to be watching the snow drift before them, as if waiting.

The whispers at the corners of Eila’s consciousness surged up into a hymn of lethargy and sloth when several figures burst from the snow. They were hunched over and hooded, ragged robes draped about them, but from the cowl of the hoods Eila could make out the glow of malevolent eyes. Large twisted arms sprouted from the robed bodies, dark sinewy muscles twisting around to end in large claws. Instead of legs a dark smoke swirled from the bottoms of the draping rags as the creatures glided forward across the snow.

The shem’len woman shouted at them, a wordless challenge. The creatures shrieked in unison as they closed in on her, their hunched forms contrasting darkly against the bright snow. Eila risked another glance to ensure that they were not heading for her and leaned down to the ruins of the crate. Pushing aside some of the broken planks she saw that it was a shipment of longswords, simple in design and identical. Thanking the Creators for her luck she grabbed one, struggling a little as it proved to be heavier than she had anticipated. She had just managed to heft it when she heard what sounded like a deep echoing chuckle from behind her. Ice ran down her spine, as she slowly turned around, the sword still pointed at the ground.

There were sounds of battle from where Eila had last seen the shem’len woman, but her attention was focused entirely on the being before her. It was one of the creatures, its small hooded head protruding out in front of its body on a strange elongated neck, the only things visible beneath the cowl being a row of dirty, jagged teeth and a single glowing eye.

It emitted the chuckle once again, enjoying the fear it inflicted on the elf before it, an aura of torpor rolling off it in waves. Eila heard a voice echoing through her being, tempting her:  _ Come, there’s no point in fighting - just give up, rest, sleep. _

She was on the verge of submitting, doing as the voice suggested when something in the core of her being snapped; all her muscles tensed and fire flowed through her veins. She looked down at the blade clasped in her hands and she felt like someone struck by the morning sun after a long, cold night as it dawned on her that she was not helpless, that she did not  _ want _ to sleep and that by the Creators, she did not want to give up.

Turquoise flames surged, a blade glinted in the light of the Breach and a furious howl pierced the air as the hooded creature that had been in front of Eila was removed from existence, flaring briefly before disintegrating with its essence collapsing in on itself, resulting in a small pile of ash soaking in a dark puddle.

Eila was breathing heavily, eyes fixed on the blade held in her hands, on the magical flames curling around the steel. After several more gulps of air she shuddered, and stared at the blade again; a look of horror crossed her features and she dropped the sword. The horror was replaced by panic and she started looking around, to be anywhere but here, only to see the shem’len woman marching towards her.

Few living souls that were not familiar with the Seeker would not have been intimidated by her visage as she approached Eila then,  some who knew her would have been thrown off; to Eila however it was as if she were the best thing that could possibly have appeared at that point. Armour splattered with dark, steaming demon gore, face flushed from her exertions, weapons still drawn.

She made a disgusted noise as she looked down at the remains of the demon that had attacked Eila, then at the sword lying amidst the sludge, caused by the hot liquid having melted some of the ice it lay in and mixing with the ash. She shook her head; the expression that had been thunderous seconds ago changed in a heartbeat, her mind to reach a completely different resolution than what it had been fixed on moments before.

“You stood and fought….” She stated the obvious as if confirming it to herself.

Eila slowly nodded, the presence of the shem’len having a strangely grounding effect.

“Retrieve your arms; I will not be able to protect you from what we’re to face.”

Eila looked at the woman dumbly. Here, the one who had held her as a prisoner for one of the most heinous crimes imaginable in shem’len lands, was allowing her, no  _ ordering  _ her, to have a weapon on her person.

“Well? Pick it up; every second we waste costs the Commander another life.”

That seemed to snap the elf out of her reverie and she hastily leaned down to pick up the sword, using the bottom of her already-filthy tunic to clean off any offal that had ended up on the blade from her having dropped it into the mess.

“Come, the others should be just ahead,” the shem’len said, already turning around, leaving Eila struggling to find a way to hold her new sword while traveling.

“Others?” She questioned as her mind caught up to what the woman had said.

“You’ll see soon enough,” the warrior replied enigmatically and completely out of character, yet still managed to say it in a tone that brokered no further discussion.


	4. An Author, a Dreamer and a Weapon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to coffeeguru for putting up with my terrible mistakes and fixing them. Have a look at their work too, it's awesome!

They had been at it for just under an hour, trekking along what little was left of the road or cutting across the frozen river and the occasional snow drift, only stopping when one of the burning orbs that the Breach spewed out crashed into their path, spawning demons. Eila was unsure if the missiles were demons themselves, simply carried them, or caused a miniature rift just large enough to spawn them. Regardless of which, she wished they would stop. By the time they reached the foot of a large frozen waterfall both she and the shem’len with her were covered in splatters of the dark liquid that seemed to be the demons’ blood. Its sulphuric scent would cause a heady reaction if breathed in too deeply at once. The elf had almost succumbed on two occasions after dispatching shades that attacked her.

The shem’len had not spoken to her since her last comment about whom they were going to meet. If she was honest with herself, Eila could not wait to see another living soul. Since the bridge, all they had come across were demons and corpses. The elf was grateful that all of those they had encountered were mostly covered by the light snow that had started falling, the ash in the air turning it a slight grey.

“We’re close,” the shem’len said, her accented voice breaking the silence that had fallen during their small break like glass.

“How do you know?” Eila asked, using the sword to push herself to her feet again, stifling a groan as the stiffness that had set in after an indeterminate confinement and sudden exertion caused made itself known.

The warrior was looking up at the steep cliff in front of them. “I can hear them.”

Eila tilted her head, testing if there was anything that she could also hear over the constant thrum of the Breach. As the shem’len had said, there was the sound of fighting being carried to them on the wind. Snatches of unnatural screeches that Eila was all too familiar with by then and a mechanical clanking along with the thump and whooshing characteristic to many elemental spells. There was even the occasional shout, the distinct pitch of a male voice, unintelligible from that distance.

The First looked at the shem’len again curiously. The human had managed to pick up what she – an elf – had had to strain to hear. But it was hardly the time for curiosity; the hole above was growing increasingly closer and the prickling sensation at the back of Eila’s neck was almost permanent now. It seemed her captor agreed, motioning that the elf follow her as she headed off along the bottom of the cliff until they came to a path that wandered up its side, invisible to the eye unless one were almost standing on it. The shem’len gave a satisfied grunt and started up the steep path. Eila mentally braced herself, knowing that by the time she reached the top her legs would be screaming jelly.

As they drew closer to the top, the sounds of combat grew clearer, along with another noise – a deep thrum that seemed to cause the very rocks to vibrate slightly, from time-to-time interrupted by an oddly familiar spluttering noise. Neither woman noticed that the mark on Eila’s hand was glowing brighter and brighter the further they progressed.

~<o>~

Andraste’s incinerated arse, how had he gotten himself into this mess,  _ again _ ? Ever since that idea had taken root, that  _ tiny, brilliant, world-shattering _ idea, these kinds of things seemed to happen all the bloody time. Some part of him wondered if the events in Kirkwall would have turned out as they had, had he not approached Hawke that fateful day in Hightown. But then again, even without him the insane force of nature that was the Champion seemed to have been chosen by fate. He could still hardly believe what he’d been told of how they had escaped the Blight and he had  _ seen _ the dragon-witch; all self-respecting storytellers knew her legend. If he was honest with himself he would have it no other way; he did not want to picture the meaningless existence his would be without the world’s most infamous apostate as a part of it.

So here he was, in the ass-end of bloody  _ Ferelden _ , the one place that seemed to attract apocalyptic shit more than the City of Chains. Bianca hummed her battle hymn, shooting bolt after bolt into the seemingly endless waves of demons.  _ Fuck _ , he thought, wishing not for the first time that Hawke and her crazy posse were here to shove their collective armoured boots up whichever evil maniac had managed to fuck everything up  _ this time _ as he released another bolt, the quarrel sinking so deep into the monster it hit that it disappeared completely from sight, only to be revealed again as the creature disintegrated, leaving the slime-covered projectile hanging in the air for a moment before it fell into the disgusting remains of the demon.

He had hoped to avoid this kind of shit by coming along quietly when the Seeker demanded he repeat his tale to the Divine; instead it seemed he’d managed to get himself right to the centre of all the madness. At least the egg-head elf fighting next to him seemed half-decent at killing things; he might even have made a good addition to Hawke’s crew. Andraste’s tits, he seemed to be the perfect combination of Sebastian’s stick-up-his-arse, Fenris’ brooding and Merril’s weird, to fit right in - from the little he’d seen observing him while at the tavern in Haven.

Hawke sure as the Void would have quizzed him about his magic; the green energy that swirled around the man was unlike any Varric had ever seen. In fact, it bore an uncanny resemblance to the energy that was bleeding out of the Breach and the small tear that was spewing out demons at them right now. Not that he was complaining, the way the elf managed to pull the demons off their wispy-feet…whatevers into choke points for Varric and smash them to the ground to give the green soldiers with them a chance to cut them down was damn useful. The barriers he seemed to be able to project over others were also a saving grace; why the fuck had Hawke never bothered to do that? There had been times he had been damn jealous of her little bubble of invincibility, stupid dragon.

His absent-minded musing was cut off when the two men with him and the elf were both cut down at once, the one gurgling as he stared dumbly at the claw protruding from the floor and disappearing into his chest, the other crying out as his leg was crushed, his scream cut short by the same creature swiping him across the face, twisting his head to an unnatural angle.  _ Fuck _ .

The two demons seemed to savour their kills, they were unlike any creatures Varric had seen from his time in Kirkwall, and there he had seen a  _ lot _ . Stupid mages. Stupid Templars. 

These were tall, but hunched. Long, hard, spindly legs and arms that seemed to be made from the same chitin that armoured Pride demons. Their heads were too small, too twisted, too many eyes and the jaws were just  _ wrong _ – the bottom half stretched and twisted, seemingly fused to the neck and upper chest like a particularly ugly bib. Their screams pierced the air more so than any other demon he had encountered; it made your blood run cold, muscles freeze up and chest clench. But the worst was how they seemed to treat the damn floor like  _ water _ ; he was a dwarf, and seeing how they jumped into solid rock, just to burst out of it underneath whatever unfortunate victim they had chosen next was just  _ wrong _ . The way dust, snow and stone rippled as they passed through it made him tense up to the point here he questioned if he had indeed never had a stone-sense. He still didn’t like caves though. The demons, seemingly satisfied with their kills, turned to him and the elf.  _ Shit Hawke, why did I go back? _

~<o>~

Solas grimaced as he watched the two humans with them die. His reserves were too low for another barrier, so he used his staff to channel ambient energy at any shades or wisps still heading for them. At least their deaths had been swift, if grisly, a small mercy. The dwarf with him was impressive, he had to admit. The purpose of the bared chest was beyond him, but he supposed so was the wolf’s jaw necklace that hang from his neck to others.

He’d seen the dwarf in the tavern, defending one of the bar maids from one of the less savoury patrons, using the contraption that had at the time seemed too extravagant. But the past day had proved it to be anything but that. It was perhaps a bit large, but it did not look like there was any part of it that was not for function. It spewed out quarrels almost as fast as he himself could throw spells. It was purely because of the dwarf and his deadly weapon that they had been able to hold out for so long. Oddly enough, he also knew how to work alongside a mage, something Solas had not seen since the old days, or during his brief forays into Tevinter. It was a pleasant surprise, all things considered.

Despite their currently dire circumstances his mind still drifted to the elf the he had been asked to look at once he had made it known that he was an expert on the Fade. She was fascinating...seemingly unscarred but for a brand on her left hand that poured out a magic entirely too familiar. The humans claimed she had fallen out of one of the Fade-rifts, preceding the silhouette of a woman. He refused to contemplate what that might insinuate. Instead he focused on slowing the growth of the mark,  which was consuming her, but it felt like a temporary solution at best. The elf would die, the Breach would keep growing, and the effort he had exerted all those years ago would be put to waste. All because of a stupid mistake.

Perhaps he would live to see it, perhaps he would now die. Here amidst these ruins, beneath a glowing sky, forgotten and reviled. There was nothing he could do to stop the onset of demons, his power too diminished; he could not even close the small rift in reality before them now. The thought of everything finally coming to an end had a strangely peaceful rightness to it as he accepted it, almost content.

_ Ha’lam’sal, nuvenin’vena’melana ha’mi’in _

~<o>~

He looked to the elf, who looked back with the same determined expression as he stroked Bianca lovingly. This would probably be the end. Neither of them were melee fighters and this fucking  _ land swimming _ put them at a severe disadvantage. It wasn’t a very Varric thing to think, but if they were going to go down, they would take down as many of the bastards with them.  _ Fuck you Hawke, you better stay as far away from this shit as possible...maybe send Blondie. _

One of the spindly demons screeched, the sound making Varric grit his teeth as he hefted Bianca. What he would not do to have even  _ one _ of their former party here. The Fade-shit wouldn’t know what hit it, well maybe not Merril, she would maybe try to hug one of them or something, or maybe that would confuse them back to where they came. He chuckled to himself grimly at the thought: Merril hugging demons to death, her face always shifting from sad-puppy to happy-puppy whenever she found new prey, then back to sad as it imploded with confusion at the enthusiastic contact.

What happened next was so close to the brief image that had shot through his mind he had to blink a few times to realise it was actually happening. The snow drift at his and the elf’s right flank erupted. He half-turned, expecting it to be more demons. Instead it was two women, crashing into the demons before they had a chance to do their weird  _ ground-water-dive _ shit.

The one slammed into a demon, knocking it off its long legs; if a demon had had the capacity to look confused as fuck, this one would have. The other left a trail of turquoise as she crashed against the other demon. This one wasn’t knocked to the ground, instead it looked as if it was about to do one of its scream things when it just fell apart. The elf next to him recovered first, casting a spell that called lightning from the sky to arc between wisps that had been pulled into this reality by the rift.  _ Shit Varric,  _ he thought to himself,  _ pull yourself together, you’ve gone soft from things not always going Hawke-shaped the moment you walk down a road. _

The elf next to him seemed to have none of the reservations the dwarf did; he marched over to one of the women – an elf, Varric now realised, grabbed her hand and pointed it at the rift and held on as a bright beam of energy arced between the two, not flinching even as the woman let out a short scream of pain. To his astonishment the rift’s hum increased to a pitch higher than his hearing could pick up, the kaleidoscopic shapes that jutted out from it and warping, retreated all at once until it imploded, much like the demons did, the wound in the air washed off like cheap paint, leaving no evidence that it had ever existed beyond the devastation and demon offal covering everything in what had once been its vicinity.  _ Shit. _


	5. To Know You

Eila was caught completely off-guard when the flat-ear grabbed her arm. She had just flung herself at the demon in the wake of the shem’len warrior woman, trying her best not to collapse as she hit the floor, legs weak after their forced ascent up the steep path. She was unsure of how she had actually managed to end the creature she had thrown herself at – a part of her had probably hoped to die by demon, end the ceaseless pain, barrages of questions and accusations, yet somehow she’d managed to swing the scavenged blade, and, her magic curling around the blade of its own volition, had cut through the creature with almost no effort on her behalf.

Then she saw the rift. A chaotic swirling of energy that hung off the ground by just more than a man’s height. Its core looked to be partially spherical, but the way it tore at reality created a hole as if something two dimensional were trying to occupy three. Energy surrounded it in a second coat, chartreuse flames spurting from it as if it were a miniature sun.

It drew her in, tugged at her very being. The lyrium in her blood yearned to be united with whatever was on the other side of that rift and the mark on her hand pulled towards it like an unseen lodestone. But she did not let it take her. In part because she could not spare the energy to follow the call, in part because she knew it would not be a kind fate awaiting her, were she to submit.

That was when the flat-ear intervened. She had not even seen him coming, only making a cursory note of his presence when she had charged in. There was nothing she could do to stop him from grabbing her arm, the action jerking it uncomfortably as she almost lost her balance, and instead of assisting her in her struggle against the pull, he moved her towards the tear in reality. Lifting up her arm, he pointed it at the flickering portal, stopping short of actually making contact with its energy.

What happened next was even less expected than the flat-ear’s actions. The brand on the palm of her left hand flared to life, shocking Eila at the strength of it’s glow -  _ when had that happened? _ She would have staggered back as a beam of energy sprung from the rift, connecting to her palm, had the man not been holding her as he was. 

She cried out as a sensation akin to molten slag being poured into her bones spread through the connected limb. Her vision to blanked out, and she was unsure of whether she was still standing or not, but as fast as the pain had appeared, it vanished again, the sudden release unbelievably euphoric. From wanting to sever the arm to make the pain stop, Eila then felt like she could fly.

Over the sound of the rushing blood in her ears and the high whine that was her consciousness letting her know she could still hear, she vaguely made out that the sound coming from the rift had changed. Instead of a deep thrumming, the noise rose in pitch, all the while with a beam connecting it to her. Instinct screamed for her to not be where she was, the sounds from the rift promising too high a release of energy. But the flat-ear held her in place and the fluctuating feedback body had been experiencing over the past day rendered her strength wanting when it came to anything that resembled putting up a struggle.

So she closed her eyes and turned away from the rift, hoping, no,  _ praying _ to the Creators that whatever happened, she would not find her end being man-handled towards a demon-spewing hole in the sky like a fly trapped in the spines of a carnivorous plant.

The rift reached a pitch that defied hearing within moments, and she staggered back as a weak shock-wave passed through her. The elf had let go and with her legs refusing to hold her up, she tumbled to the ground, a broken plank lying in the snow bruising her backside. She could not even muster the energy for the cry that tried to claw its way past her lips at yet another pain attempting to make death seem the preferable option, instead only tears ran down her cheeks, leaving tracks in her sweat-, ash- and dust-stained face. She rolled away from the plank, only to find that the ground next to it was frozen over cobbles – far less comfortable than even the packed flakes of ice. She attempted to struggle to her feet, but only managed to make it to her knees before she gave up and huffed mist onto the frozen stone, rapidly cooling sweat running down her face to drip off her nose, her clothes uncomfortably cool and wet against her skin after all the exertion.

After a few deep breaths Eila tried angling her head forward, only to find that there was something close in front of her. Straining to look further she saw it was a hand, offering to help where she had failed. Steeling herself, she gripped it as tightly as she could, silently grateful for not needing to use her legs again and be spared some of her pride in one go.

Looking to see who had helped her she was surprised to see that it had been a durgen’len. He wore clothing that would have bordered on finery were it not for the rugged coat; underneath it though a thick silk tunic was unbuttoned to bare a shapely – and rather hairy – chest, fine woollen breeches and boots that while looking solid, were clearly of quality, despite their worn appearance. Strangest of all was his face: unlike any durgen’len Eila had seen before, this one was almost clean shaven, sporting only slight stubble, which seemed to work in his favour. Despite his stature he was the spitting stereotype of a dashing rogue.

Managing to balance on her uncooperative legs by locking her knees she shot him a grateful smile. The durgen’len simply smirked in response and nodded, then his twinkling eyes drifted past her to something over her shoulder. Curious about what he was looking at, she turned.

Standing a short distance behind her was the flat-eared elf who had grabbed her. If he could have been more different from the durgen’len Eila would not know how. Instead of tailor-made clothing, the elf wore a dull grey tunic and a pair of faded green breeches. Hanging from a leather strap around his neck was half of a wolf’s jaw, darkened and smoothed with age. His jaw was very triangular, and offset his prominent chin and high cheekbones strongly against his bald head.

“What…what did you do?” She barely managed to hide the resentment at how she had been treated by the elf - someone who no doubt knew little or nothing of  _ the People _ .

“I? I did nothing,” the elf responded, his voice impossibly smooth and confident, “That was all you. I merely orchestrated events to so that the rift would close sooner, rather than later.”

“ _ Me….” _ She had intended it as a question; instead it came out as a statement, an affirmation:  _ Me. _ The implications of being the one to do…whatever she had done almost let her forget how rough he had been.

“I had time to study it while you were unconscious,” the elf explained, interrupting her thoughts. “Clearly whatever placed that on your hand also caused the Breach. I theorised that the Mark may be used to close these rifts.”

To Eila he sounded like he was excitedly cataloguing a new insect he had discovered and dissected. She was unsure of how she felt about that. On the one hand, she felt like she may be dissected at any point…on the other-

“What he’s trying to say, is that he’s the one that kept that thing on your hand from killing you while you slept,” the dwarf explained, also interrupting her thoughts. Why could these people not let her think? Did they always  _ have _ to talk? She missed the days where she went out hunting with her clan, everyone moving as a whole, never questioning the other, never needing to, all merely smaller parts of a glorious whole that was efficient at its task without uttering a single word. She missed Leilani.

Her look went from accusing-loathing to slightly-annoyed as her mind finally processed what the durgen’len had said. “Uh, thank you then. I suppose I owe you my life.”

The elf’s stern features cracked into a small smile, barely twitching at the corners of his mouth. “It was no problem.”

_ Why does he have to sound so smug about it? _ Eila thought to herself.

The elf blinked and looked at her again, tilting his head slightly as if examining her.  _ Fen’edhis, think less at him, think less at him! _ Eila tried to mentally backpedal.

“And here I thought we would be ass-deep in demons all day,” the durgen’len commented, glancing over to where whatever was left of the rift pooled. He then looked at Eila and grinned again before inclining his head slightly, “Varric Tethras, Rogue, Author and occasional unwanted tag-along.” As he said the last part he winked at the shem’len woman who had at that point stalked up to them, sheathing her sword. She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and stopped a short way from them, not quite part of the group, yet not far enough to be left out from anything.

“If there are to be introductions, you may call me Solas.”

Something about how he said it suggested that he was giving  _ permission _ to be called that, not simply supplying his name. Eila had to fight the urge to narrow her eyes at him, to see what other clues he might give. This elf was no flat-ear. He did not have the anger of one, simmering underneath the surface, or the submission of one, accepting of the shame that had been heaped upon them. Nor was he of  _ the People _ – he did not have the quiet pride, grating arrogance, or powerful hatred that the clans were known for. No, this man was something different all together.  _ Curious _ .

Once more, Solas acted as if he were plucking her thoughts out of the air, the corners of his mouth twitching again as he did a small half-bow. She had to fight down the urge to return the gesture; her arm was still aching and she would not offer him this victory at whatever game he was playing at.

Eila found herself trying to find a way to fill what promised to be an awkward silence and was fortunately saved by the shem’len woman clearing her throat, “You have yet to give your name, elf.”

Whether bolstered by the presence of two other non-humans, or weariness finally having robbed her of the last of her senses, Eila smiled teasingly as she looked at the warrior, “Perhaps because you have yet to give yours, shem’len.”

It what sounded suspiciously like a forced cough covering up a laugh came from Varric’s direction. Eila wondered for a moment if she had finally pushed somewhere where she should not have. She could almost hear the Keeper’s voice echoing in her mind:  _ you know better than to indulge in such foolishness da’len. _ The shem’len’s grey eyes grew thunderous, flickering dangerously. But as Eila was sure she would either lose her head, or get punched into the next age, the woman breathed in deeply and released the breath, giving the impression of shrinking down from whatever righteous fury-induced size she had grown to in the past few moments as the air left her lungs.

“Of course, you are right. But perhaps we can get to that while we continue on our way towards the forward base.”

Eila felt like she had been punched after all, the abrupt turn the woman’s demeanour left her mind reeling,  _ Wait. What? How? …Hold on, WHAT? JUST LIKE THAT?! _

The shem’len merely huffed and turned around sharply, ignoring Eila’s slightly unfocused eyes and agape mouth, moving towards a low broken-down wall. The Dalish elf started as a hand softly touched her shoulder – or as near her shoulder as it could reach. The one who had introduced himself as Varric was grinning at her, “Don’t mind the Seeker, she does that.”

The Dalish woman nodded dumbly at no one in particular and then hurried to catch up to the retreating backs of her new acquaintances. Any thoughts of escape were seemingly set adrift in the ocean of confusion, surprise and pain. An almost constant flow of elvhen curses came from her lips as the short rest allowed her muscles to start cramping.

~<o>~

Solas watched the elf with the Mark as they made their way through the ruins they had been fighting in, trying to find their way into the valley ahead. She was an impossibility - her survival an insult to the laws of the universe, her seeming ignorance making it a flippant one at that.

She was quiet, silently observing, or simply too exhausted to do anything but trudge along. Varric and the Seeker were loudly arguing about the durgen’len’s role and presence – or rather, the Seeker was arguing loudly; the dwarf’s responses on the other hand were measured and smooth and seemed to slowly erode the shem’len woman’s adamant demands that he had no place here.

The bald elf used the distraction of the other three to absorb everything he could of the elvhen addition to their party. She was tall, for an elf, and had the characteristic lithe build common among their people. He could see the slight tremors of her limbs whenever she had to scale an obstacle, or when she took a moment to stand still. Clear signs that fatigue was starting to take its toll on her; none of them had any idea of what she had endured in the Fade, in addition to trekking up a mountain and fighting demons. The fitful state of slumber trapping her after she had fallen from the rift was more akin to unconsciousness than actual sleep with the Mark preventing her body from healing as it should have.

What unnerved him was how the Mark seemed to be reacting to her. When he had first laid eyes upon her it had been nothing but a chaotic wound, linked directly to the Fade. It would have killed her,  _ should have _ …it would have killed any that were not the master of its origin, the creator, the caster, that were inherently linked to it because of who and what they were. Yet here she was, still deteriorating, but ever more slowly. No doubt if they closed the Breach, the damage the green brand was causing would cease entirely.

When he had gripped onto her arm to close the rift he had felt the magic of the Mark spike in intensity, felt her arm almost wither with pain as she cried out. Yet it had felt more like it was reacting to her emotions and suffering than connected to anything he had done. Whoever,  _ whatever _ , this elf was, the magic of the Mark was adopting her.

He had never been a man of strong emotion. No, those days were long behind him. But something about this woman and how the Mark reacted to her woke something deep inside him.

~<o>~

Varric sighed internally as he and the Seeker verbally sparred. Her abrupt and absolute statements challenged his silver tongue as he tried to show her that his place was here. Odd, considering  _ she _ had originally insisted that he come, and it had not been a particularly friendly insistence.

His newest acquaintance took the lion’s share of his attention, watering down his annoyance with the obstinate human who was too much like Aveline, without an association with Hawke to make it easier to bear dealing with her.

He’d never presume to say that he knew a great deal of the Dalish. His exposure had been purely what he’d experienced of Daisy and the occasional forays Hawke had made into the Sabrae clan’s camp. The dwarf doubted that either experience gave him a good perspective of what it meant for someone to be Dalish. On one hand, Daisy had…was still loony enough to have been ostracised by her own people – blood magic seemed to have that effect. On the other, the Clan had kicked out  _ Daisy _ – even Blondie and Broody couldn’t get truly mad at her, despite their zealous ideals. To top it off, they were semi-useless at killing things and had managed to let their Keeper get possessed.  _ Well, everything is useless at killing things compared to us back then; who knows, maybe that Clan caught some of the Kirkwall-crazy that everyone around the city seemed to suffer from. Maker only knows that Sundermount creeped the hair off my shoulders. _

Breaking off his argument with the Seeker, he turned to address the elf with the glowing insanity-magnet on her hand. He’d bet all his shares in the Guild that they wouldn’t get far without  _ something _ impossible happening so long as this woman was with them. His abrupt stop almost caused her to fall over him. Ah, tall people.

“So, you may have wormed out of answering  _ Cassandra _ here, or as those scared shitless like me refer to her: Seeker Pentaghast.  _ But _ , I still want to know what your name is.”

Varric silently sent a prayer of thanks to the Maker and his Bride at the incredulous expression on the Seeker’s face; she wouldn’t punch him for calling her on her slip, he hoped. Then he saw that the elf he was addressing still had a sceptical look on her face. This might take a little more than calling her out on her play, calling out two women in the span of a few breaths -  _ women with swords? _ Shit, he better watch his step.

“Well, I can’t keep referring to you as ‘the elf’ or ‘the crazy lady’ in my internal monologue, mind you, that latter one is already taken. The prior has absolutely no taste - I’d hate to be referred to as ‘the dwarf’.”

Through the strained expression on her face their newest addition almost managed to smile.  _ Bingo. _

“Very well, master dwarf. You may call me Eila.” He almost missed the undercurrent in her tone. Shit, she was using his own words to tease  _ him _ now, even when she looked like she’d collapse at any moment.  _ Dammit Varric, you’ve gone and found another one. _


	6. Near Respite, Near Surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I spend the past few days cleaning up this fic. For the oldies deigning to re-read it, you might find that the flow has improved drastically (Yes, I used the word 'drastically', that's how much had to be subtly and not so subtly changed)
> 
> Otherwise, here, have an uodaet.

Eila was glad when they arrived at the next checkpoint - another bridge being used as a makeshift outpost. Fortunately this one was more heavily defended than the one that had been crushed under the demon-carrying-debris hurtling from the Breach. It looked like some surviving mages had been taking turns to divert anything that might be headed for the location. It was otherwise teeming with activity: soldiers bearing wounded to a cordoned off area for a fourth mage and a team of surgeons to address. There was another area where any fatalities were laid down and covered with a simple canvas and yet another where several soldiers seemed to be resting - either sitting on the floor, blankly staring at nothing, or curled up against the cold sleeping fitfully, recovering from their rotation at the front lines.

The demonic presence between them and the outpost had been easier to deal with now that they had another mage and the dwarf with them. Indeed, Eila had barely lifted a finger in the last few battles after having been told by the dwarf not to  _ ‘try and be a hero, only to fall flat on your face when it actually matters’ _ and saved any energy for the trip further up the mountain.

They had not seen another rift up close, but Eila had spotted several shimmering on mountainsides and snowdrifts further away. When she had asked about them, Cassandra had shook her head, stating that trying to hunt those down at that point was foolishness. That they could not risk a mountain-climbing expedition for lesser tears while the Breach still threatened everyone. The elf did however notice that despite this, the human always gauged the distances between the rifts and Haven with a not entirely neutral expression.

“Seeker Pentaghast, thank the Maker you’ve made it! Sister Nightingale is waiting for you.” One of the two soldiers guarding the gate leading through to the bridge itself saluted as they approached.

Cassandra nodded at the woman, “Thank you Lieutenant.”

The Seeker had hardly finished speaking when a faint shout came from the far side of the gate. The Lieutenant's eyes grew wide and she shouted a warning, pushing her companion aside just as the air between them cracked open with a thunderous boom.

The rift had opened exactly where the gate had been, and while the arch managed to remain standing, the wooden barrier exploded outwards.

Eila lost track of where the two soldiers had gone, as green streaks from the rift hit the ground and erupted into demons.

Cassandra stepped in front of her, roughly pushing her to the ground where the snow and dirt had been trampled to slush by all the recent activity. Eila heard something shatter against the Seeker’s shield. Something that would have hit her had the human not intervened.

She tried to push herself to her feet, the lethargy from before having receded somewhat.

Varric was nearby, just under the boughs of a large pine swearing with every bolt he fired, as if it were an incantation that would kill the demons any faster than his quarrels already did.

Solas had once again resumed his channeling of the Fade. Eila marveled at how the Veil appeared to willingly provide him with all the power required to sustain his spells. He seemed not to tire from his casting at all. She herself had never managed to coax her abilities into anything resembling grace. The harder she tried, the more irritated she got, the less it worked. Instead her abilities only seemed to manifest when she tried the least. When she entered into the rhythm of something entirely unrelated. It had happened more than once in her racing against Leilani that she suddenly found herself far ahead with no idea how she had covered so much ground so quickly and her best friend furious at her for cheating,  _ again _ .

One of the demons, a small hooded thing that was floating two feet above the ground with its legs and arms curled around itself  swerved around Cassandra. Varric swore loudly and swung the blade on the end of his crossbow at it, but the creature ignored the threat and crashed into him. It screamed as the blade pierced it, but knocked the dwarf to the ground and the weapon from his grasp.

It looked as if it were about to finish him off, him, who had been the only one to show an ounce of care for her. Eila did the only thing she could think of: she threw her sword at it.

The blade cartwheeled once and hit the demon on the shoulder with the hilt before clattering to the ground. The demon screamed again, turning from Varric to Eila.

On seeing what her opponent looked like under its hood her blood froze. It was a shrunken creature with wrinkled leathery skin. But that wasn’t what shocked Eila so - the creature had no face. Not even the imitation of one, like so many demons liked to sport. Instead all she could see of its head was a miriad of long pointed teeth bared at her.

“ _ Move! _ ” Cassandra shouted from where she was battling a fiery being of Rage.

But everything within her seemed to have stopped functioning.  _ This is it. This is how I die. _

Shards of ice and frost exploded from the faceless mouth, catching Eila on the shoulder and throwing her to the ground. She fell with a scream as her skin was pierced by dozens of small missiles, the wound burned with cold.

The demon screeched as well, the sound an echo of her own as if the being was celebrating her despair, joining her in it. It rushed up to her now prone form, baring its teeth at her once more as it hovered over her.

Eila closed her eyes, waiting for the end.

 

~<o>~

_ You Maker-damned idiot,  _  the voice inside his head kept telling him.  _ You bloody fool _ .

He seethed internally as another missile shot from his hand into the sky above, obliterating one of the objects dropping towards them from the Breach.

_ So much for a resolution. You know this is what you deserve after the absolute stupidity you let yourself get talked into after that mess in Kirkwall. There’s no way in the Void that that could have worked out well. Now look where you are. _

He spat at the ground as if the action would rid him of the voice. His voice.

“Bah, fuck it.” He turned around and gestured to the one mage from the Ferelden army to take his place. The armoured woman nodded, brushing a strand of her mousy hair behind her ear as she moved to his former position. He folded his arms to ward against the cold and stalked away, warring with the voices in his head.

_ I was a child! Naive and hopeful in the face of a cruel and unforgiving dark world. _

_ Excuses do not change the past. They do not reduce the blame. The Sin. _

He growled as he tried to reason with himself, despite knowing that it was an argument he could only lose, no matter what prevailed in the end.

He made his way to the gate at the rear of their outpost, trying his hardest to not only block out his self-accusations, but now also the voice of Chancellor Roderick, who had to be the most annoying member of the Chantry clergy. Ever. The man was like the unfortunate offspring of a badger and a nug. Stubborn, annoying as fuck and useless in the grand scheme of things.

The Chancellor was arguing with the Nightingale, the  _ Left Hand of the Divine _ , well...former Divine now, but still. The man had to have the mental capabilities of a mouse to think he, some random, had any footing against one of the woman that had helped run the entire Chantry. It might have been from the shadows, but everyone knew the former companion of the Hero of Ferelden shaped the currents of the organisation. Build and break down the right barriers where the rivers of thoughts and ideals are still mere brooks and you could control the path the eventual river would take.

He was sure his old teachers would not believe these thoughts would come from him, but it was not that different from controlling magic. Control small expenditures of mana well enough, and the great will follow along that set course. He  _ knew _ magic.

He almost staggered as a wave of energy crashed against the tendrils of power he always kept out. It was his defence against Templars. Instead of trying to hide himself, he made himself that much bigger. Too big to be just one man, according to many. Overcompensation nearly always lead to underestimation.

It was easy to get away or overwhelm when the enemy thought they were in control - when they were in truth just dancing to the tune of your harp.

The wave of energy could only mean one thing.

“Rift!”

He did not wait to see if anyone heeded his warning, but swung up the tail-end of his staff to cause a telekinetic explosion at the back gate. Several soldiers were thrown away from it just before the wood exploded with green energy and three shades roared through, faceless cowls howing.

Rion smiled.

 

~<o>~

Varric gritted his teeth as he saw the two soldiers disappear behind the rift. They were probably already dead.

He slapped his last drum of bolts into the slot on Bianca’s breech; hopefully the base here had more ammunition, or he’d be useless for anything more than embellishing what had transpired.  _ How the fuck do you embellish an arsehole ripped into the sky, crapping out more demons than Kirkwall ever had? _ Shit. He’d be flat out useless then.

The first two quarrels found their marks. One had a wisp melting into a screaming puddle of….goo, the other thudded into the shoulder of the Rage the Seeker had engaged, if only to burn up mere seconds afterwards, but distracting it long enough to let the woman bury her blade  deeply into its shapeless abdomen.

The next three missed. The hunched over hooded creature swerved far too hard for him to get a good bead on it, so he changed targets to another shade, sending that one to its death with two bolts buried in its phantasmal ribcage.

_ Fuck you, fuck your mom, fuck your goo-faced aunt.  _ He muttered under his breath with each kill.  _ Fuck you too, Blondie…. _

The next curse was not moderated so, as the hooded floating ice-shit-spewer swerved past Cassandra and at him. It could have been headed towards Elfy, but she was in no condition to fight anything more fearsome than a newborn nug. Shit, ‘Elfy’ was as bad as ‘the Elf.’ He would need to think of something quickly.

The thing crashed into him, impaling itself on the bayonet he had added to Bianca after Hawke decided that room-sized spiders were a fun pastime.

The thing had far more weight that he had expected it to, the impact knocking him to the floor and Bianca from his grip. Hopefully the snow would protect her from any damage.

But now he was defenseless.

_ Brilliant. Of course the lovable side-character needs to die. What happened to not being a hero? Genius. _

The demon never attacked him again, though. Elfy  _ \- really need to fix that -  _  had thrown her sword at it. Varric had spent enough time around Aveline, Fenris and even Carver to know that throwing a sword at  _ anything _ was by-and-large  _ stupid _ . Perhaps it was just his own old-fart on the battlefield status, but it also felt like it should be the logical thing to do - to  _ never _ do that with  _ any _ weapon that was your primary.  _ Isabela doesn’t count there, she throws those bread knives at almost anything that moves. Unless she’s fucking it...I suppose she’s fucking it either way. _

So naturally, because you  _ did not throw swords at things _ , the blade had tumbled awkwardly and just bounced off the demon. Varric neatly edited out of his narrative how the dwarf had been heroically saved by a wasted elf being far too stupid for her own good.

Then something happened that made his gut twist just as a fire was lit within it: Elfy went down under a barrage of ice. The stupid pointy-eared waif who had now managed to get on his good side by saving his skin  _ twice _ and even almost managing to be a smartass, was going to get herself killed.

_ Fuck you Blondie. You’re causing all my stories to end up as tragedies…. _

Then the world burned.


	7. The Span of  a Thought

Her world narrowed down to a single, ugly, gaping maw. Each tooth was at least a handspan long and looked like bone, bleached and left out in the sun for too long. There were dozens of them. It had no lips and cold air was flowing from beneath the teeth lining the bottom jaw as though it were drool.

She knew she had been lucky when it only hit her shoulder, bloodied as it was; the force of the attack, coupled with her instinctive recoil had spun her hard enough that none of the needles had reached the bone, from what she could tell, but the wound had gone numb with cold, once the burn had receded, and she could not be sure.

Now she had no such chance. The creature was almost on top of her, sightless gaze directed right at her. She would either die, or be wounded grievously enough to die shortly afterwards.

_ You need not end here. You have the power. It is in your hands,  _ on _ them. _

She knew the voice. It was the same one that had followed her all her life. It was the voice that hounded her in her sleep and in her moments of fear and weakness and just like all the other times she savoured its words of promise. Of comfort. As dire as the consequences may or may not be. With her own voice muddying the water, asking the question it always did:  _ is it hubris to think I may control it? Would one hear of mages who do? _

_... _

She was sitting on the banks of the brook her clan had settled down at, all those years ago, one of the tributaries that led into the Minanter. She remembered how the leaves had just been turning golden as summer turned to autumn. How the loam had started to thicken with dead leaves and small animals now grown enough to explore outside their dens and prepare for winter.

The Aravels would have been parked around a bend in the stream, behind a rock formation that promised to protect from biting winds come the end of the season. She sat there in the quiet, in the loam, with only the chatter of birds and bubble of the water to accompany her.

Tall reeds near the shore of the river rustled and shook, finally revealing a short, pale-skinned elf girl with chestnut-brown hair tied into a tail, as it always was. Always used to be.

Eila smiled at her sadly, recalling how the forest green of her vallaslin complemented her natural colours.

“An’daran atish’an lethal’lan,” Eila greeted.

Leilani smiled - beamed, really - as she responded: “An’daran atish’an lethal’len.”

Eila laughed, “So you can at least still greet in Elvhen.”

“Give me some hamina, Eilhana. Not all of us are stuck up to our ears, each day, in that dusty cart with the Keeper.”

“You know I tease, Lani. While it sounds nice and flowery, a dead language that just gets mutilated in the name of tradition serves no true purpose.”

Leilani flopped down into the dead leaves next to Eila with a sigh. She somehow even managed that with grace. The hunter was able to make everything look graceful. Probably why half of the male population of the clan was trying to get into her pants.

Eila was envious of the attention her friend got, but would never admit it. They had their places in the clan, and the Creators had put her on a path that separated her from the rest. It would not matter whether she was the clan’s biggest prude, or flaunted sexuality from the trees. When people looked at her, they saw a First. A Keeper. One touched by the old gifts and above the mere rabble of normal existence.

Not that she wanted the attention that Leilani got as it was, but she had read through what few books  Istimaethoriel had sequestered in her aravel . Throughout the history of the world the greatest things were always accomplished by a pair, a couple. Two souls bound in body and soul. Each making the dark world easier for the other to bear.

“Don’t tell me...Sounven?”

Leilani rolled her eyes, then made a face. “Naturally. I swear that dahn’direlan has all my routines plotted out there and is stalking me as if I were some doe that wanted only to pala behind some tree like a beast.”

Grinning she brought her mouth to Leilani’s ear, “Well, he  _ is _ the  _ ‘vigorous river.’ _ ” She breathed the last words in a mock moan of pleasure.

Leilani giggled and pushed Eila away. “Well  _ you _ pala him then.”

“Among the river reeds?”

“Fuck you.”

Eila snorted, “Picking up on the more cruder shem’len terms now, are we?”

“Even one of their clumsy, glassy-eyed bears would be better among the leaves than that... _ urgh.  _ And to be honest, I actually lost him upstream. I used the river to hide my trail until I spotted you, daydreaming as usual.”

“How the mighty have fallen - the hunter becomes prey.”

“ _ That’ll _ only happen the day the Void swallows this world. Creators, if the creep tries anything, I’ll skin him and leave the rest for Fen’Harel.”

“I can always set him alight if you want.”

Lielani laughed, “Right, just like you lit that fire when we got stuck in that storm two years ago.”

“Fine, lightning then.”

Eila’s childhood friend just laughed louder. “Creators, can you imagine what that would do to his hair?! Nobody would be able to look at him without dying of laughter.”

“Right, better not. For the sake of the clan.”

There was a short silence where neither of them said anything, the only noise once more becoming the brook and the birds.

Eila’s smile slowly faded from her countenance.

“I know this isn’t real.”

“It could be.”

“Yes, but how many would die, were you to take my body for a ride across the world while I live in this fantasy?”

“That would not concern you.”

“Maybe it shouldn’t. Maybe even it wouldn’t. But right now, it does.”

“I am always here, should you reconsider.”

“Yes, you are,” Eila sighed. “But she is not.”

...

She watched as the forest dissolved into the ground around her, replaced by mountains, snow, blood and demons; a sky that wanted to swallow the world. She had never had true control over even her own ability, the idea of power promised at the cost of freedom frightened her away from it simply because it was what it was:  _ power. _

_ I will rather die as myself, than the puppet of the fallen and Forgotten. _

_ As you wish. There shall always be another who accepts our offer. _

Eila’s world turned to fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find all of my Elvhen word translations in FenixShiral's [Lexicon](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848?view_full_work=true). Just use good ol' Ctrl + F to find specifics. I tried to have it make contextual sense though, so it should be ok without.


	8. Perception. Determination.

Flames launched from the snow, ice impossibly catching alight. The mud all around Eila dried, hardened and cracked in an instant as steam shot up. She would have hissed as miniature geysers burned through her, by now, ragged tunic, had she been in a presence of mind to notice anything beyond what was in front of her.

...

_ “Avise and genise, coming forth from the earth as if it were the maw of a dragon.” _

_ “Keeper, what about when you make fire? Is that also like that?” Eila asks, still ever curious about these gifts that have been revealed to be a part of her. _

_ Dashenna laughs, “No, child. My fire is weak, it is a warning, a tool….” She pauses a moment to observe the elfen child’s reaction, who looks very disappointed by the response. She laughs again, a warm sound. “I am but a Keeper of Lore, Da’len. Remember the stories of Elgar’nan and the fury of the Sun - perhaps you shall one day wield its fire. A guardian of the People.” _

_ The girl, despite her age, looks sceptical, “Ha’hren, but I can’t even warm felanman.” _

_ “Perhaps, then, it is the Creators’ will for you to be a Keeper of Lore, as well.” _

…

_ Elgar’nan _ .

Eila’s eyes were wide, the gold in them dancing to the spectacle before her; mouth agape.  _ The sky has broken, the Sun’s fury has returned to cleanse the world. _

The demon did not even have time to scream. It went up in ash that joined the flames’ upward journey.

There was a dull  _ thwump _ from where she had lost track of Solas, and a shimmering blue cocoon enveloped her, cutting off the heat she had not realised was there. The sudden return to mountain-top temperatures snapped her out of the reverie and absently she ran her tongue along her now dry lips in an attempt to alleviate the irritated sensation.

Then the fire was gone.

“Did you see that, did you?!” an excited voice asked in the silence as the air cleared of the artificial fog the fire had caused. When nobody immediately answered it continued: “...nevermind.” The only other sound was the thrum of the rift.

Eila found another hand shoved into her vision, surprised this time to see that it was the armoured gauntlet of the Seeker. She took it, and got hoisted to her feet so fast that she almost tipped over again. Cassandra caught her by the shoulder though, and gave her a meaningful look. “The rift. Close it before more come through.”

Eila nodded dumbly, trying to remember what it was the bald elf had done. The yearning was still there. The pull of the Fade even as it poured into this world, opposed to the other. Simply hold her hand towards it? It could not be that simple. All magic was like pulling out teeth for her.

She held up her hand and tensed, expecting the same crippling pain as before. Instead, what looked like one of the tendrils that usually spawned demons whipped out and snapped to the mark in her hand. She wanted to stifle a cry, but the pain from before was absent; it was as if there were some intangible force wrapped around her forearm, linking her to the rift. She tested the linked hand. It was still stiff and aching from all the flares the Mark had gone through, but otherwise she could not say that it felt any different beyond the odd pressure surrounding it. She tried gripping the stream of energy. Her fingers wound around it, finding it warm and somewhat malleable, but not lacking purchase. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled.

The Rift  _ unravelled _ . It looked like the kaleidoscopic structure that remained after the demons died, convulsing with jutting crystals that shot out, only to be sucked back in. It was being corroded by the very air into nothingness.

Eila felt the pressure around her arm disappear, then-

_ Agony. _

She screamed as the sensation returned. Molten metal crawling up her arm. It felt like someone was holding the inside of her limb against a glowing brand while the bone creaked, hissing as it cooled into its new metal form. Drying, while still attached to her arm.

She prayed to the Creators for the release from the pain she had experienced earlier. For it to  _ end. _

It did not. Instead, her vision went dark and she knew nothing.

 

~<o>~

Varric watched as the blue bubble around him immediately blocked the searing heat.  _ Seriously Hawke, why the fuck couldn’t you share your bubble? -on second thought, don’t answer that. Damn magic theory. _

The flames died and he found himself in a thick fog, with the only things giving him bearings being the tree just behind him - now with a few of its needles singed, sweet scent masking the charred smell of demon remains - and the green glow ahead, indicating where the rift was.

His vision soon cleared though, as a mountain breeze pushed the vapourised water away. The first thing he did was head over to where Bianca lay, and tested to see if she was at all hot from the flames. The weapon creaked slightly as components shrunk back to their original size after expanding in the heat, but he easily picked her up again without burning himself. He breathed a sigh of relief. The snow had prevented any more scratches, and the heat...well Bianca had long since been warded against heat abuse.  _ You know Hawke, as much as you’ve managed to give me grey hair over the years, sometimes your shit solves problems before they’re actually there. _

He only needed to find a spot to sit down so he could replace the waxed strings and work some extra lubricant into the hinges. Maybe test the loading mechanism a few times to make sure it still functioned smoothly. That would wait for when he got his resupply of ammo, though.

He was surprised to note that it was the Seeker that helped Elfy up this time. Though it made sense, considering the Nevarran probably wanted the rifts closed more than anyone else. It was a problem she could not punch, so she would do whatever would be necessary to expedite the problem going away.

The mage he assumed they had to thank for their lives was crouched under the rift, looking up at it with an enamoured expression, despite the drawn look of his features. He wore deep red robes that lacked any sleeves. Unlike what Circle mages normally wore, he had pauldrons, gauntlets and a cuirass of thick, boiled leather. While his gauntlets were very similar to how Varric recalled Hawke’s looking, having the same vicious styling, the mage’s pauldrons appeared as if he had used them for geological experiments on everite - the metal growing out of them in crystalline formations. He otherwise looked like he had spent his fair share of time on the road, the bottom of his robes being threadbare and dirtied and what looked like all the materials a mage would require to ply their craft being strapped to his belt. A giant tome hung at his back as if it were a pack of sorts. Varric was immediately curious whether it was only a book of spells, or if there was more to it.

The mage was pulled back by a templar who had put aside her helmet, her sandy hair tied up into a bun. The man shook her off but Varric’s attention was drawn back to Elfy when he saw a tendril of green energy dance out to connect with her hand.  _ Andraste’s tits girl, you have more balls than a Templar hopped up on lyrium - touching this Fade-shit after that last one. _

Despite his expectation, she did not cry out as she had before, raising his brow. She looked as surprised as he felt. Shit never just  _ got easy _ . When nothing happened as the Rift started collapsing in on itself, he had almost convinced himself that nothing would go wrong. Of course, that was when it  _ did  _  go wrong.

Elfy screamed so loud that her voice died in the same breath. She staggered, staring at her hand in expectation, but from the tears running from her eyes it did not look like the pain abated. It gave him just enough time to run and catch her as she fell, her voice wheezing in an odd whistle just before her eyes rolled back. She was clasping her left arm to herself using her right.

The others were frozen where they stood. Many of the soldiers had readied their swords again.  _ Fuck. _

Varric snarled and wanted to march right into the encampment, but there was no way he could carry someone taller than him by so much and keep their dignity intact. Fortunately the Seeker picked up on his intentions and hoisted Elfy from him, making it look effortless. Varric just nodded to her and retrieved Bianca from where he had dropped her to catch the elf.  _ Sorry girl. Seems I can only handle one lady at a time. _

After a cursory inspection he folded in the arms and slung the crossbow around his back. Cassandra had already pushed through the splintered remains of the gate to move across the bridge.  _ Better hurry. Damn long legs. _

“Coming, Chuckles?” he asked the bald elf, who just raised an eyebrow in response. Shrugging, Varric followed after the Seeker, noting that the elf was close behind if the tap of staff on ground was any indication.

 

~<o>~

The first thing Eila became aware of was the pain. Throbbing started from her arm, moving through her whole left side with each thump of her heart. The next was how uncomfortable her position was. She groaned.

The aspect of the world changed abruptly and Eila found herself on her legs again, albeit with a strong arm wrapped around her waist. Her own was guided to drape over her bearer’s shoulder. There were voices around her, arguing. At least one of them was masculine.

The first words that were spoken that resolved themselves into something coherent were by whoever was holding her up: “-order me?! You are a glorified clerk, a bureaucrat!” She was being held up by the Seeker? That would explain the hard edges pressing into her.

“And you are a Thug, but a thug that supposedly serves the Chantry.”

A voice like sharpened velvet interrupted, “We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor. As you well know.”

The male voice turned tired. “Justinia is dead. We must return to Val Royeaux...elect a new Divine and obey  _ her _ directive.”

“No, Chancellor, we can not ask the Commander to recall his forces. They are all that is preventing the demons from flooding into the Wilds and Hinterlands.” 

“And what about the Prisoner?” The male asked again. “She  _ must _ be turned over to the Chantry for trial.”

Cassandra snorted incredulously, “Did you not just witness her close the rift here? You would be dead if not for her.”

“ _ Nobody _ would be dead if not for her!”

“Peace, Chancellor,” the smooth voice interrupted again, ever contrasting with the Seeker’s and the man’s hard tones. “Until the trial, we cannot decide the Prisoner’s guilt. So until then, her guilt is unimportant. We need her to close the Breach.”

“Unimportant? Unimportant?! Might I remind you, Sister Nightingale, that the blood of hundreds is screaming to us for justice from that mountainside.”

“That may be your opinion, Chancellor, but until such a trial as you propose, it is only your opinion.” It sounded like the man was about to retort but the woman continued over his protests, “Each moment we waste debating the issue, more lives are spent in the valley’s defence. Tread with care Chancellor, lest that blood demand a reckoning from you.”

This seemed to silence whoever it was that the two women had been arguing with.

Eila tried to open her eyes and felt the rim of a crystal phial being held to her lips. She opened her mouth and let her head be tilted back. The substance burned across her tongue for a second, but what she did not swallow immediately vapourized inside her mouth, clearing her sinuses with a mild burning sensation. Stamina draught.

Her mind stopped for a breath, then with the suddenness of shattering ice became crystal clear. She stood up straight, the pains from all the prior events blessedly fading more and more with every breath she took.

She shivered to adjust to the sensation of second-hand energy, that feeling that would always tease at the edge of your senses that this was not real. It was the main reason she normally avoided them. She was not sure if she would be able to tell between the effects of one and a Fade Hallucination.

“We must get you to the Temple,” Cassandra said by way of explanation, waving in the direction of a steep valley in the mountains ahead that was illuminated green by the breach, as well as an internal source. “The Commander’s troops can help us punch through to it the quickest.”

“Even with all your soldiers, you can’t hope to reach the temple.” Eila could now see the man arguing. He wore a tunic-like habit and a simple, black, flat-topped hat. The quality of his clothing was of a slightly higher standard than any other Chanry official she had yet seen, but beyond that, the only thing designating him as anything were the age lines on his face. It unsettling her a bit that she could have passed someone so important in the human’s religious organization in the street and not have realised it. “Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position is hopeless.”

Eila immediately saw the flaw in the Chancellor’s plea. Were they to pull back, they would simply thin their lines and create a bigger front, through which they would then have to punch to get back to the Breach, to actually do something about the situation. She shook her head.

“It might be the quickest, but it is not the surest. If the forces attack and divert most of the demons, we can move in safely from the mountains.” Eila recognised the woman, now that she saw her. It was the same hooded one who had been at her initial interrogation.  _ Sister Nightingale. _

“Are you even sure that the route leads to the Temple?” Cassandra asked. “Even if it does, we can’t be sure that it’s safe. We lost an entire scouting party there.”

The hooded woman shook her head, pushing strands of orange-red hair back behind the folds of the material, “No, I’ve been there. It is the route we uncovered on our way back out.”

The Seeker snorted a disbelieving laugh, “I still find it hard to come to terms that you were there when this place was first discovered.” Cassandra seemed to think about something for a moment, then nodded, looking to Eila, “Leliana makes a good point, but how do  _ you _ think we should proceed?”

“Why...why ask my opinion?” She managed after a while, trying to process through the fact that she had been asked for directive.

“You are the one with the Mark,” Solas added, stating the obvious so simply that it almost felt like an insult. She was not sure how to take it.

Cassandra nodded in agreement, “You are, ultimately, the one that needs to be protected. If there is any way to make that easier….”

Eila recalled the tales of how Blights were fought. How battles had lasted for days and weeks instead of hours. She knew that Theodesian armies were prepared to face a foe like that, were trained to… but she was one of the People. They did not fight prolonged battles. They retreated to the woods and whittled down the enemy. The only time the elves had fought on a level battlefield in recent history was in the Fifth Blight ten years ago. The ones that had participated there had brought tales of horror to the Arlath’ven.  

“I…the mountains.” The words were hoarse, grating her ears as much as they did her throat.

“Very well,” Cassandra stated curtly, turning back to the Sister Nightingale, “Leliana, gather the forces for one last push. Strike in the morning. We will hopefully have made the other side of the mountain by then.”

The hooded woman nodded, before nodding to a uniformed man whose face was half covered in tattoos standing to the side observing the proceedings. He affirmed the unspoken command with a salute and marched to where the majority of the troops were recovering. Sister Nightingale then moved to speak with a hazelnut-haired elf who was giving instructions to three people dressed in muted colours.

Cassandra looked from Solas and Varric to Eila. “We shall set out as before in an hour’s time. Make sure you have all the equipment you might need and get as much rest in that time as you can.” With that she headed off after the man Leliana had sent off just moments ago.

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker,” the Chantry man muttered as she walked past him.

Her only response was a noncommittal shift of expression at his words.

“I’ll be at the gate then,” Solas stated without preamble, “I shall await you there.”

Varric huffed a laugh when the elf had disappeared. “Don’t worry Kid. I don’t plan to find some mysterious reason to vanish. I’m sure we can set you up with some decent gear, grab a bite and maybe catch a few winks before the Seeker comes bearing down on us again.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this, the more comprehensive the better. If not, please also leave a comment detailing why. I aim to grow.**  
>  ლ,ᔑ•ﺪ͟͠•ᔐ        〆(・∀・＠)  
> 


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